Joy is a thing with Feathers

[yourlocalaliyen]

Poetry is clumsy
The lines trip and twist
And stumble into my path
Because they just wanna be noticed.


They scramble to organize themselves
Into legible stanzas
Under the tip of my pen
Watching for my approval with earnest gazes


The metaphors bury themselves deep
In the lines and stanzas
Because they don’t wanna be seen
They wanna sit in the back with the quiet kids
Because they’re too shy to be noticed


And yet they’re literally what makes poetry
poetry.
It’s a twisting trail of confusion.


It’s hard to keep up with. 
Which begs the important question:


Why do I write?
I don’t know.
Half the time I’m crying when I write
My tears mingling with the words on the page


Creating this rancid mixture of grief
And anger
And sadness
And hopelessness


But once in a blue moon
There’s joy
Vivid and bold
So bold it makes my heart sing


Its feathers fluttering as it bursts out of my chest
Disappearing into a cloudless blue sky
My fingers grasping at empty air
where it once was.


Insane isn’t it?


I write about every other emotion except joy
And even when my poetry
Has a joyful connotation
It is tainted with something…darker.
It is always tainted, and that ignites
A flood
Of emotions
In me


Because
I have so much to be joyful about
I have loving friends and family
I have a crush
Someone to love and look forward to


I have my cat
Who is good for nothing
Except being a doorstop
And a beloved cuddle partner


I have my mother
Who is headstrong and no nonsense
But loves me all the same
And I love her too


And yet joy eludes me sometimes
I don’t know why
Maybe…hope isn’t the thing with feathers
Maybe joy is a thing with feathers
Because it seems to fly out of my reach
Whenever it gets a chance.


I try to trap it in a cage
Its sharp beak nips through the bars


I try to tie it down
It tears through the rope.


I grow frustrated with each failed attempt


And I SWEAR TO HIGH HEAVEN
I am so dang close to drop kicking that stupid bird
Into next week
If it don’t stay in the cage


Because happiness is all I’ve ever really wanted


And I AM happy…
But I wonder if I just tell myself that


To make myself feel better
Or if I truly am happy with my life.
What a conundrum!
Usually I like deep questions…
But I don’t think I like this one.

[tun]

Poetry is clumsy
The lines trip and twist
And stumble into my path
Because they just wanna be noticed.


They scramble to organize themselves
Into legible stanzas
Under the tip of my pen
Watching for my approval with earnest gazes


The metaphors bury themselves deep
In the lines and stanzas
Because they don’t wanna be seen
They wanna sit in the back with the quiet kids
Because they’re too shy to be noticed


And yet they’re literally what makes poetry
poetry.
It’s a twisting trail of confusion.


It’s hard to keep up with. 
Which begs the important question:


Why do I write?
I don’t know.
Half the time I’m crying when I write
My tears mingling with the words on the page


Creating this rancid mixture of grief
And anger
And sadness
And hopelessness


But once in a blue moon
There’s joy
Vivid and bold
So bold it makes my heart sing


Its feathers fluttering as it bursts out of my chest
Disappearing into a cloudless blue sky
My fingers grasping at empty air
where it once was.


Insane isn’t it?


I write about every other emotion except joy
And even when my poetry
Has a joyful connotation
It is tainted with something…darker.
It is always tainted, and that ignites
A flood
Of emotions
In me


Because
I have so much to be joyful about
I have loving friends and family
I have a crush
Someone to love and look forward to


I have my cat
Who is good for nothing
Except being a doorstop
And a beloved cuddle partner


I have my mother
Who is headstrong and no nonsense
But loves me all the same
And I love her too


And yet joy eludes me sometimes
I don’t know why
Maybe…hope isn’t the thing with feathers
Maybe joy is a thing with feathers
Because it seems to fly out of my reach
Whenever it gets a chance.


I try to trap it in a cage
Its sharp beak nips through the bars


I try to tie it down
It tears through the rope.


I grow frustrated with each failed attempt


And I SWEAR TO HIGH HEAVEN
I am so dang close to drop kicking that stupid bird
Into next week
If it don’t stay in the cage


Because happiness is all I’ve ever really wanted


And I AM happy…
But I wonder if I just tell myself that


To make myself feel better
Or if I truly am happy with my life.
What a conundrum!
Usually I like deep questions…
But I don’t think I like this one.

In the first stanza there is rhyme and there is a pulse. The fact that this happens at the start sets up an expectation that it will continue thereafter at some or other interval/s - but it does not - therefore there is disappointment, inevitably. If this pulse of rhyme and rhythm had been deployed at a later stage, as an accent or support for the meaning in an incidental moment - or at the end as a final flourish, this would have produced gratification rather than expectation and disappointment. As it is now, it feels like a promise of delight that is not honoured.

[yourlocalaliyen]

Thank you for your honesty and constructive criticism. Can you teach me how to maintain the pulse you were talking about throughout the entire poem? I prefer to write free verse, but after rereading my work I see the lack of rhythm and cohesiveness throughout the piece.

[tun]

Thank you for your honesty and constructive criticism. Can you teach me how to maintain the pulse you were talking about throughout the entire poem? I prefer to write free verse, but after rereading my work I see the lack of rhythm and cohesiveness throughout the piece.

'Freeverse' refers to any verse that is not identifiable as part of a recognized canon of designated forms - forms known as 'Metered Verse' - (Sonnet, Sestina, etc, etc, etc). If one says; 'Freeverse' - one is not necessarily referring to something that does not have a rhythmic unity and a logical and coherent pattern, internal consistency or musical form - just that whatever it is, does not conform to any of a set of formally or traditionally or generally recognized formal patterns. Unless one intentionally and strictly adopts one of the patterns in the set designated 'Metered Verse' for a piece, it is in the set 'freeverse'.

I think reading aloud is essential because it is the body that feels and knows what it likes before the mind. If you memorize and recite things that you enjoy - the body will learn to speak in the manner of that enjoyment. Your own speech will then tend to represent the same feeling of pleasure to you, previously experienced, but now, in your own original sense. One must memorize and recite whatever texts one enjoys saying most. That might be a poem, or it might be anything else at all. Whatever you enjoy reading/speaking most. You decide. The only thing anybody needs to learn is what it feels like in the body to say something which they truly enjoy saying. Poetry is just something, anything that you enjoy saying. You speak with your body.

[brynmawr1]

Poetry is clumsy
The lines trip and twist  words?
And stumble into my path  tangled in?
Because they just wanna be noticed.  wanting to,    lose the period


They scramble to organize themselves
Into legible stanzas stumbling
Under from the tip of my pen 
Watching for my approval with earnest gazes  not a fan of this line but left it for now


The metaphors bury themselves
deep In the lines and stanzas
Because they don’t wanna be seen  this is a good metaphor despite my changes
They wanna sit in the back
with the quiet kids; too shy.


And yet they’re literally what makes poetry  literally, it's unnecessary
poetry.
It’s a twisting trail of confusion.


It’s hard to keep up with. 
Which begs the important question:


Why do I write?
I don’t know.
Half the time I’m crying when I write  redundant
My tears mingling with the words on the page  again redundant


Creating this rancid mixture of grief  not a fan of 'this',  maybe 'a'?
And anger
And sadness
And hopelessness


But once in a blue moon  cliche.  sometimes?
There’s joy
Vivid and bold
So bold it makes my heart sing


Its feathers fluttering as it bursts out of my chest  it's is implied.  'out of' = from
too often Disappearing
into a cloudless blue sky
My fingers grasping at empty air  implied
where it once was.


Insane isn’t it?


I write about every other emotion except joy implied
And even when my poetry  But
Has a joyful connotation  maybe condense to 'has joy'
It is tainted with something…darker.  implied
It is always tainted, and that ignites  'ignites' and 'flood' is not a good mixed metaphor, IMO. The repetition of 'always tainted' works for me.
A flood a good opportunity for imagery or more metaphor, etc.
Of emotions
In me  implied


Because
I have so much to be joyful about implied
I have loving friends and family
I have a crush
Someone to love and look forward to implied


I have my cat
Who is good for nothing
Except being a doorstop
And a beloved cuddle partner


I have my mother
Who is headstrong and no nonsense
But loves me all the same
And I love her too  you made your point two stanzas earlier


And yet joy eludes me sometimes  don't be wishy-washy
I don’t know why
Maybe…hope isn’t the thing with feathers nice allusion.  I suspected with the title.
Maybe joy is the thing with feathers  Alternative...'Maybe it's joy, always...'
flying out of my reach  could end here with previous suggestion.
Whenever it gets a chance.  This is the end of the poem.  The rest is just a weak restatement of this stanza.  It's a good ending, IMO.


I try to trap it in a cage
Its sharp beak nips through the bars


I try to tie it down
It tears through the rope.


I grow frustrated with each failed attempt


And I SWEAR TO HIGH HEAVEN
I am so dang close to drop kicking that stupid bird
Into next week
If it don’t stay in the cage


Because happiness is all I’ve ever really wanted


And I AM happy…
But I wonder if I just tell myself that


To make myself feel better
Or if I truly am happy with my life.
What a conundrum!
Usually I like deep questions…
But I don’t think I like this one.

Hi,
I have made a lot of suggestions above, but they are not meant to be considered dogma, but merely suggestions.  I like the general thesis of your poem, but you rely on a lot on telling rather than showing.  The first half with the metaphor of the poem is better, but then you lose all imagery and resort to just conversation with the reader.  While it is still impactful, it loses poetic qualities.  I would recommend reviewing with an eye to tightening the language and considering how imagery might better convey what you are trying to say.
Welcome to the Pen,
Bryn

[yourlocalaliyen]

Thank you so much, Bryn! I'll do my best to incorporate your suggestions into my future and current poetry. Your insight is very much appreciated!

[Dris]

Some of the language is too informal. I think you shouldnt use words like "wanna" and "literally" and "dang" especially since you've used formal words later on or in other parts of the poem such as "conundrum". Its inconsistent. I enjoyed the metaphors though, they're very creative. I really liked the part where you compared the hiddenness of your metaphors to the quiet kids who don't want to be noticed or when you made the comparison between joy and feathers. I also enjoyed the structure of the poem. Overall a good read but some tweaks would help.